


Leaving For Good

by LuxaLucifer



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Family, Gen, Himring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 23:56:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/985163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxaLucifer/pseuds/LuxaLucifer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turgon, leaving for Gondolin soon, decides to make a trip to Himring to say a lukewarm goodbye to his eldest cousin, but ends up feeling more emotion than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leaving For Good

In truth, Turgon had not expected to be greeted by Maedhros himself. The character of the Fëanorians had cemented in his mind as one large, collectively awful lump, and so if the majority of them would do one thing, he assumed all of them would act as such.

So when Turgon rode into sight of Himring, he was surprised see a contingent waiting for him, the banner of Fëanor flying high right next to Maedhros. In truth, he felt a little shabby; he'd brought only a few men with him, as the majority of his subjects were finishing preparations on his hidden city.

"Turgon," said Maedhros, smiling as warmly as a man with disfiguring facial scars could. "While it surprises me still that you would wish to visit us all the way out here, I welcome you gladly."

"And your rude and unbecoming brothers?" asked Turgon curiously, diplomacy failing to override his sense of curiosity as to how Maedhros dealt with his problematic siblings.

"Most of them are staying in their respective kingdoms," replied Maedhros, smirking. "I try to spread them out so that they, how do I put it? Endeavor to exist with less offense."

They rode together towards Himring in silence; Maedhros, it seemed, did not talk if he didn't have anything to say. One of many changes in his personality.

He settled into Himring with little trouble, finding it more hospitable than Maedhros claimed, indoors at least. Turgon only had to look out a window to be reminded that Maedhros had built this place out of the ground with practically no resources, wholly on account of Angrod's antagonism towards the Fëanorians when talking about Thingol. Turgon realized that, in Maedhros's place, he would have been more than a little bitter; Maedhros, it seemed, was not. Not that he would ever say that out loud, of course.

Turgon didn't plan to stay for more than a month (he doubted he could stand being there even that long), but even so, it was three weeks before, in Maedhros's private dining room, Turgon finally broached the subject.

"I'm leaving," said Turgon around a mouthful of quite delicious venison. What Himring lacked in beauty it made up in refreshments. "Not Himring. For good."

"There it is," said Maedhros pleasantly, waiting patiently as his squire cut his meat for him. "I was wondering when you'd let it out."

Turgon was surprised enough to let his mouth hang open, revealing half-chewed deer. "I-I'm sorry?"

"It was obvious you were holding something back," said Maedhros mildly. "Besides, we've had reports of your caravans of goods traipsing across of Beleriand. It's obvious you're planning something big."

"Is it?" asked Turgon faintly.

"Yes," said Maedhros, beginning to eat at last. "Don't worry though, no one has been able to figure it out. Fingon has been bugging me about it for ages."

Turgon laughed nervously. It was ill-fitting to a man of his size.

"You said you're leaving for good," said Maedhros. "What do you mean by that? Sure you do not intend to return to Aman."

The idea was so far out of left-field that Turgon laughed again, more bitterly than he intended. "Of course not. I did not lose my wife to the Helcaraxë only to go back now. I am not nearly so humble, nor so forgiving, of you or myself."

Maedhros arched a russet eyebrow. "You are rambling, cousin."

"I am building a city," said Turgon simply. "It is mine, and mine only. I cannot let you know where it is, or even how large. I will tell my siblings, and I suspect Aredhel will want to accompany me. Always fond of adventure, she is."

Maedhros smiled thinly. "A great loss. I assume you will be no help in the campaign?"

"Only if it is worthy," said Turgon seriously. "Only if we must."

Maedhros's eyes darkened, and Turgon remembered then how scarred his cousin was under those long robes, how starved and broken he had been when he'd been rescued. How he had spent thirty years suffering in torment and had yet to repay his foe for it. Turgon blamed Maedhros much less than his brothers, for he had not burned the ships, and the sins he'd committed had been paid for in his agony.

"I suppose it was inevitable," said Maedhros finally. "We sons of Fëanor are doomed, after all."

This annoyed Turgon.

This annoyed Turgon quite a bit.

"I'm not doing it to make your life miserable," snapped Turgon. "I am doing it because I know it is the right thing to do! I do it because I must!"

"Because you want to."

How quarrelsome this man was, so calm and collected and yet so contrary. Turgon huffed in annoyance, building up steam as he opened his mouth to continue.

He stopped mid-word when Maedhros raised his arms in surrender, his one hand wide open and flat, the stump ugly and awkward as ever.

"I did not mean to get into an argument with you," said Maedhros smoothly. "It is hards not to take all the misfortune piled upon you personally, that is all. Forgive me."

What, a Fëanorian apologizing? It would be callous of him to ignore it, he decided, shutting his mouth and returning to his venison.

Near the end of the dinner, when Turgon was digging into his dessert and Maedhros was long-finished, reading a report of some sort, that Maedhros spoke again.

"Cousin," was all he said.

Turgon looked up. "Yes?"

"You will soon retreat to your hidden city, I take it?"

He hesitated. How much should he give away. He decided for honestly.

"Yes."

Maedhros trained his bright eyes on him. "I would like to tell you something, in case we never meet again, for who knows when I shall meet my doom? I want to tell you that you will be sorely missed, and that I hold a great deal of love for you, as much as this ruined body can."

Equal parts touching and horrifying. Just like his father.

"I, uh," said Turgon, mind befuddled by the emotion and the dessert. "If we do indeed never meet again, I feel the same. Thank you for your fine food and your company, and for...well, everything."

"Everything?"

Turgon had to shelve his anger and his grief for a moments as he contemplated never seeing his eldest cousin again. Turgon did not know how to express his admiration for the bravery it took to be Maedhros, to live through unspeakable torment and come home only to relinquish his crown, and his secret gratitude that he had done so for the sake of all of them. And before that, for many memories in Valinor, riding and hunting with his cousin, finding comfort in each others' ridiculous height, laughing at shared jokes during banquets. With a pain in his heart, he remembered that it was Maedhros who had introduced Turgon to Elenwë.

There were memories before that even, vague flashes of bouncing on a large knee, pulling on long red hair. Maedhros had been a part of his life since the day he'd been born.

"Everything," repeated Turgon. "Everything and more, stretching back to Valinor."

Maedhros's smile was wistful. "I think I understand," he said. "Although I do not remember much of Valinor, for many memories have been ripped from me. Remember for the both of us in your hidden city, Turukáno."

Turgon smiled back, his own chest aching. "I will, cousin. I will."


End file.
